


Suited and Booted

by DeWitty1, drarrymehome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Party, Draco has a thing about Harry Styles, Draco's 40th Birthday, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, harry doesn't like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeWitty1/pseuds/DeWitty1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarrymehome/pseuds/drarrymehome
Summary: It's Draco's fortieth birthday and he's planning a huge muggle-themed party to celebrate. Draco is taking the muggle theme very seriously, and has meticulously researched high-end muggle fashion for the occasion. Unfortunately for Harry, this means being a victim of Draco's bold fashion choices and his strange new interest in a muggle singer called Harry Styles, who Draco claims looks a lot like his husband.In other words, Draco wants Harry to wear a pink floral suit for his birthday and Harry isn't having any of it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59





	Suited and Booted

Draco and Harry are sitting on their patio on a particularly warm day in late May when Draco suddenly says, “has anyone ever told you how similar you are to Harry Styles?”

Harry turns away from the geraniums he’s been looking at; they could do with some water. “Who?”

“Harry Styles, the muggle singer? You have the same name, same eye colour, same wild hair – I miss your long hair by the way.” Harry grew his hair out in his twenties, and it was the talk of wizarding London. It was during that time he was inundated with requests for magazine covers which he hated but agreed to solely to irritate Draco who turned green with jealousy when people fawned all over Harry. Then, when he turned thirty, he cut it all off for charity and never bothered growing it back.

Draco was sorely disappointed to discover the Potter Fanclub was no less enthusiastic as a result.

“It annoyed me.” Harry shrugs although he does sort of miss it himself. Draco rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. Only Harry would be so stubborn.

“Yes, well, I like it shorter too,” he concedes, “although it’s a bit less tameable without the extra help from gravity.” Draco reaches over and runs his hand through Harry’s wild hair – he gave up trying to style it years ago, much to his chagrin. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have even the slightest hint of grey yet, but then wizards do live so much longer than muggles.

Harry has been an auror for over twenty years and he’s getting suspicious of Draco. “Where are you going with this?” He narrows his eyes at his husband in a way that’s usually reserved for interrogations. However, it looks more like he’s squinting against the sunlight, since the sun is low in the sky and shining right in his face.

“Nowhere, I’m just saying you and Harry Styles are kind of similar.” But Draco isn’t looking anywhere near Harry anymore, and it’s starting to seem like he’s hiding something. That’s probably because his mind is whirring at a hundred miles an hour while he thinks about the birthday party he’s planning for himself.

Harry knows his husband is up to something, but he bites. Amusement glitters in his eyes as he says, “show me.” There’s an air of challenge about them and Draco wants to feign indifference yet he knows Harry is onto him.

Draco flips open the iPad left abandoned on the table nearby and opens the very secret Tumblr he made dedicated solely to muggle fashion icons. It still amuses Harry that Draco has become so adept with muggle technology, even though it has been years since Draco discovered the internet.

Draco hands the iPad over to Harry and he squints down at it. He’s just on the cusp of needing bifocals but he refuses to get them until he has turned forty when it’s acceptable to need reading glasses. On the screen is a young man clearly in his mid-twenties wearing a skin-tight flared suit in a red and black diamond pattern, a brilliant white bow tied at his neck. Not Harry’s kind of thing.

But he can almost see where Draco is coming from. This guy’s eyes aren’t as green as Harry’s, but they’re similar. Their hair colour is the same, although the Harry in the picture has clearly managed to tame his. 

“If you say so. I can’t sing though.” Harry says, looking at the tagline of the image which says it was taken at a music festival before handing the iPad back. He has never once sung in front of Draco in the fifteen years they’d been married, and this gives Draco food for thought.

“You’ve literally never tried,” he huffs. Draco would really rather like it if Harry could sing, he’s always had a bit of a thing for musicians, although he would never dare suggest he didn’t love Harry exactly as he is.

“Same thing.”

Harry goes back to staring at the geraniums he’s too sluggish to get up and tend to. It’s getting later in the day and they should think about heading inside before it gets too cold, but neither of them make to get up. Draco continues scrolling through aesthetic posts on Tumblr while Harry takes pride in his garden, and no more is said on the matter.

But Draco couldn’t let it go. Over the course of the next week, Draco seems unusually picky about Harry’s attire.

He caught Harry leaving the house in flipflops and board shorts "Potter why aren't you wearing those sequinned flares I bought you? You're going to look like you didn't even try today!"

"Draco, I'm going to get milk."

"Well that's no excuse to wear shorts and flipflops. You think Harry Styles would stoop so low?"

"Yes."

Another time, Harry was taking leave he had left over so he was lounging around the house trying to make himself look busy since Draco won’t let him help with any of the party preparations. He had thrown an old quidditch shirt on that has a hole in the shoulder and a pair of jeans that have ripped at the knee and nearly split at the crotch.

“I can’t believe you,” Draco whined, “you look a mess.”

Harry didn’t even turn his head away from the tv show he was only half watching. “I saw Harry Styles dressed like a ballerina yesterday. Would you prefer that I wore a tutu?”

Draco scowled. “Not the point.” He stormed off to find fairy lights.  
There are half a dozen times when this happens, partially because Draco doesn’t grasp how casual muggle fashion is, and partially because the party planning is getting intense. It has been a long time since he’s thrown a lavish party of the scale he is currently planning, especially because for a long time he didn’t have friends to invite to one – or at least, not friends who would actually come. It’s not every day that he’ll turn forty though, so he figures he should have some fun before his nieces and nephews start calling him old.

Just a couple of days before his birthday, he decides to go on a shopping trip to muggle London. He and Harry moved to the country after they married and he doesn’t get back into town very often, so it feels like a treat. He’s exchanged a reasonable amount of galleons into pounds, he’s still fascinated by fifty pence pieces, because he has no idea how much muggles spend on clothes. Poor Pansy has even been dragged along for moral support and a second opinion.

“Why can’t you just buy him wizard clothes like a normal person?” Pansy whines. She was all for a shopping trip – she’s always eager to get away from her stuffy husband and riotous kids – but her face had fallen when she’d realised it was shopping of the muggle variety. It didn’t stop her from tagging along though.

“I’ve told you this already, it’s a muggle themed party. What would make more sense than making everyone dress as muggles?”

“Because muggles have terrible taste in fashion! You have no idea how much pain you put me through when that invite arrived.”

However, Draco has done his research and he knows exactly where in muggle London to go. He drags a begrudging Pansy into the heart of the fashion district where her sullen mood mysteriously lifts when she walks past storefronts full of expensive garments styled on mannequins in all kinds of crazy themes. Each fashion shop is interspersed with jewellers displaying flashy diamonds and natural pearls. She’s practically skipping by the time they reach the shop Draco wants to go to. The storefront itself is very simplistic. The lower half of the wall is painted black and the top white, and there’s a mannequin in each window – one dressed in a long white gown popping with plumes of feathers and detailed brocade, the other in a voluminous red explosion which looks to Draco like a rose in dress form.

“Well, they’re certainly not afraid of colour here,” Pansy remarks as they walk inside. Her fashion sense is decidedly monochrome, the only pop of colour on her being a shockingly bright lipstick or, even rarer, a coloured stone necklace. She’s partial to rubies in particular. In total contrast, the store is full of floral patterns and things embroidered with bees. He sees the way her eyes catch on a circular shoulder bag with green leather on the outer edge and canvas printed with flora in the middle; he doesn’t mention it for fear of her cuffing him on the back of the head. Her rings always seem to catch in his hair.

“Good morning sir, madam, my name is Adam. Is there anything I can help you with today?” An impeccably dressed sales assistant approaches them. There isn’t a hair on his head out of place, he has a perfectly groomed beard, and his shoes are so shiny Draco could use them as a mirror.

“Actually, you can.” Adam’s face lights up as soon as Draco mentions suits, presumably because they wouldn’t be exactly cheap. Draco knows from hours scrolling through Tumblr that this is an especially high-end brand, although he’s yet to figure out the currency conversion.

“I can certainly help you there,” Adam says with a smile, “please follow me.” He leads the two of them upstairs where there is a selection of menswear and a more secluded area. Pansy raises an eyebrow at him.

There are at least a dozen suits in the current collection. Adam is desperate for Draco to try them himself, telling him over and over again that he’s the perfect build for their ready-to-wear and has he ever considered modelling? It’s impossible to tell whether these comments are genuine or whether the man is blowing smoke up his arse to try and get a larger purchase out of him. Draco suspects it’s the latter.

“That one is out,” Draco says officiously, discarding a navy-blue suit which is far too serious for his muggle-themed party.

The assistant nods. “Would you like me to take this one away, sir?”

“Yes. And take this too,” he hands him a green blazer which would be exactly the wrong shade against Harry’s eyes.

“Certainly. While I’m away would you and your wife care for some champagne?” Draco almost snorts but holds it together. Before he can figure out what to say, Pansy has already opened her large mouth.

“Oh you are funny! He’s shopping for his husband actually, I’m just here for moral support. I’ll definitely be needing champagne though – he’s a royal pain in the arse to shop with.” She smiles at the sales assistant sweetly that way she does when she wants something from someone.

The man doesn’t miss a beat. “My apologies,” he turns to Draco, “your husband is a very lucky man. I couldn’t get my boyfriend in one of these things if I paid him a million pounds.” Draco blows out a long breath as he walks off.

“Fucking hell. Do you never think before you speak?” He whisper-shouts at her.

“What? You’d rather buy a fancy suit from a homophobe? You’re welcome.” Draco mock glares at her, but he concedes the point.

“What do you think, then?” There are still three suits – one made of pale blue satin, one red with black flowers embroidered all over the back, and another baby pink in a floral design.

Pansy runs her hand over the satin material. It’s ridiculously high quality, certainly better than anything Draco has seen at Madam Malkin’s or Twilfitt and Tattings. Something he should definitely mention next time he has new robes tailored.

“The blue is beautiful… but I don’t think it would suit Potter. It’s too delicate, more the kind of thing you would wear…” He notices the way her eyes slide over to him to gage his reaction, but he won’t bite – he already has his own attire planned to the most miniscule detail.

“Hm. You might be right.” He pushes the blue to one side and looks between the red and the pink. The red is rather daring and very Gyrffindorish, but he wants Harry to embrace something different. He chose a muggle theme for his party for a reason; he wants everyone to think outside the box a little. The pink is less like Harry, and whilst it would definitely be something new, he doesn’t want his chosen theme to make his husband uncomfortable…

He turns to the pink suit. It’s beautifully hand-stitched with roses down each breast, each individual stitch in perfect alignment and regular size. It’s cinched in around the waist and has buttons shaped like roses studded along the cuff.

Just then, Adam returns with champagne. “How are we getting on? Would you like to try anything on?” He looks at Draco hopefully and he knows instantly Adam thinks he can get Draco to buy a suit too. Oh, if only he knew…

Pansy takes a delicate sip of her champagne. He can tell by the miniscule flare of her nostrils that it’s not up to her high standards, but she says nothing.

“You know, you could try one of them on. You know Harry better than anyone, you should be able to guess what the style would look like in comparison.” Draco thinks that’s an outright lie. Nevertheless, he finds himself trying the red suit. The first cause for concern is the shoulders. They fit perfectly on Draco, but Harry’s shoulders are significantly broader. It’s nothing a tailoring charm wouldn’t fix; however, Draco doesn’t want extra effort when he’ll be paying good money. Besides, it’s supposed to be a muggle party.

When Draco walks for Pansy he can tell instantly by the look on her face it isn’t the one. Although Harry and Draco are similar in height, Draco’s legs are notably longer. The leg on the suit is flared, and he knows that they would make Harry look short and squat, which he most certainly is not. He also discovers that red is categorically not his colour, despite Adam’s protests. It washes him out and greys his complexion; never a flattering look.

“Well then,” he says when he returns in his own clothes, noticing that Pansy is well into her second glass of champagne while his rests abandoned on a cabinet containing cufflinks and belts. “The pink one it is.” He refuses to try that one on too.

Adam takes the suit away and comes back with it in a white box with black edging which is tied with a black ribbon. “Do you have an account with us, sir?” Draco refrains from rolling his eyes and assures Adam that he doesn’t want to create an account with them. A flicker of something passes over his face when Draco declares that he wants to pay cash, but he doesn’t try to stop him.

Stepping back out onto the busy London street three thousand pounds lighter than they were when they arrived, Pansy heaves a sigh of relief. “Tell me we can go to Fortnums for tea now darling?” Fortnums is one of the wizarding hotspots in the heart of the city, but it’s too far.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re in Knightsbridge, I’m not going all the way to Piccadilly just for tea. Besides, we’re not done yet.” And off he leads her to another store where he has something very important held for him.

Draco is insanely nervous when he goes to show Harry his purchase. It’s definitely not Harry’s usual choice, but Draco hopes that he’ll embrace the spirit of the day and let loose a little.

“No.” Harry takes one look at the suit held delicately in Draco’s hands and doesn’t want anything to do with it. They’re standing in their bedroom and Draco wants Harry to try the suit on while he still has time to adjust the seams if it’s needed, which he sincerely hoped it won’t be.

“What do you mean, no? I haven’t said anything yet!” Draco stamps his foot indignantly, but it makes him look like a petulant child. Not a great look for a thirty-nine-year-old. 

“You’re going to say I should wear that for your birthday. It’s not happening.” Harry takes the fine material from Draco’s hands and holds the trousers against himself. “There’s… flowers on my crotch.” Draco bites firmly down on his lips to hold back the laughter threatening to escape at the look on Harry’s face.

“Oh, so real men don’t wear florals? Get over yourself, Potter. You know, some people would kill to wear this. It’s Gucci.”

Harry scrunches his face up and Draco can’t tell if it’s with disgust or confusion. “What the fuck is Gucci? Sounds like a sneeze.” That was just unnecessary.

“I’ll have you know it’s a very popular muggle fashion house and I will not have an uncultured swine for a husband who cannot respect a quality handstitched suit.” Draco shoved his nose in the air in indignation. Harry will wear this suit, Draco is determined.

“How much Draco.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lies, smoothing out the creases Harry has already managed to put in the trousers.

“Come on, tell me. How much did you spend on this?” Harry is giving him that auror look again and Draco doesn’t like it.

“…about three.” Draco mutters under his breath as he inspects the trousers. They will probably have to be pressed now.

“Three what? Hundred?” Harry shoulders drop a little. “Well I suppose it could be worse.”

“Three thousand…” All the colour drains from Harry’s face.

“Are you kidding me?! That’s over six hundred galleons!” Draco’s face flushes. He had no idea it was that expensive… 

“So?” He quickly tries to come up with an excuse whilst not admitting he had no idea how much he was spending. Just wait until Harry heard how much Draco spent on his own outfit. “You just spent more than that on a broomstick!”

“Yeah well I can ride a broomstick every day of the week. I can’t exactly wear this to put the bins out…” He gestures towards the suit. 

“I can promise you right now that if you don’t wear this for me, you won’t be riding any broomsticks for a very long time.” And Draco most certainly does not mean the quidditch variety.

Harry’s jaw nearly hits the floor. “You can’t do that! That’s- that’s- blackmail!”

“It’s not blackmail if you do it willingly.” Draco flashes him a cheeky smile and takes the suit jacket out for Harry to try on.

“…Yes, yes, it is! You know, you’re really starting to irritate me with this stupid Harry Styles thing. If you like him so much, why don’t you just invite him instead of me?” Harry took the garment from Draco’s hands a little too roughly and Draco’s not too sure he likes Harry’s attitude anymore.

“Maybe I will!” Even though he absolutely will not.

“Fine. And while you’re at it, why don’t you marry him since you love him so much?”

“Well,” He gathers up the tissue paper from the box and scrunches it up in his fists. “At least he least he'd look fabulous at our wedding!" Draco flounces out of the room and won’t speak to Harry for the rest of the day.

Harry’s first instinct is to go to Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, what’s going on with you and Draco? It’s nearly his birthday and you’re both walking around with a face like a smacked backside. I know he gets a little enthusiastic with these things, but it can’t be that bad.” Harry is sitting at Ron and Hermione’s kitchen table cradling a mug of very strong coffee.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Even Ron isn’t convinced. “Come on mate, even I know you’re miserable.” Ron nudges his elbow, but Harry doesn’t have any energy left to react.

“I said, nothing.”

“Harry James Potter don’t you dare lie to me!” Hermione pins him with a glare so venomous it would give Draco a run for his money. It’s truly terrifying no matter how old they get.

“Ok, fine! But it’s ridiculous. He wants me to wear a fucking pink suit with roses plastered all over it. It looks so tight my balls will shrivel up and die from blood loss! And when I said no, he stopped speaking to me. He literally hasn’t uttered a word to me since!”

Just then Rose walks into the kitchen. “How come Uncle Harry gets to swear and I don’t?”

“Uncle Harry should know better,” Hermione says through her teeth, “would you mind not swearing in front of my very impressionable children?” Harry glares at Rose who winks at him behind her mum’s back. She’s fourteen now and hardly a child anymore. She’s got Hermione’s bushy hair and wit with Ron’s hair colour and laissez-faire attitude towards rules. Harry loves her more than he can say.

“Give over Hermione, they see George twice a week and you’re not telling me they don’t hear worse at Hogwarts.” He says with exasperation.

“Don’t you start dropping George in it. Besides, what happens at Hogwarts stays at Hogwarts.” Rose sidles up to Harry and gives him a hug. He’s glad that she hasn’t grown out of hugs because he definitely needs one. 

“Hermione, love, they hear worse from me!” As soon as the words are out of Ron’s mouth, he realises he’s put his foot in it. Hermione’s voice quickly becomes shrill.

“RONALD WEASLEY WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON!”

“And people wonder how you became Minister,” Harry mutters. Ron snorts and Hermione glares at the both of them. 

Rose clearly decides they’re boring again and wanders off back to her room, not before taking a chocolate biscuit while her mum isn’t looking. She gives Harry a cheeky grin before sauntering off. He’s glad he’s one of the fun uncles.

“Would it be so bad if you wore it?” Hermione asks him Rose is out of earshot. “It’s only one day, and Draco will only turn forty once. It’s a big occasion for him. You don’t have to have a huge party for yours if you don’t want to, but you could at least let him have some fun.”

“It’s not that…” Harry knows what he’s going to say will sound stupid, but there’s something that bothers him more than just the suit. “He showed me a picture of some muggle singer guy who apparently likes to wear these things. The guy is like, what, twenty-five? And it wasn’t just random, he clearly had a ton of photos right there just to show me… and he kept saying how similar we are, even though there’s hardly anything similar about us.” Ron and Hermione are exchanging wary looks, but Harry presses on. 

“I don’t need him dressing me up like a plaything Hermione! What’s next? He starts parading me down Diagon like a trophy husband? That’s not what I married him for!”

He loves Draco more than anything in the world and Draco has hardly aged a day in years – there are barely more than laughter lines on his face. Harry doesn’t think he has changed much, but he’s certainly not as young as he used to be… and Draco’s more than a catch. It’s just a little bit of interest, maybe a harmless crush, but where will it go from there?

“You’ve been married for fifteen years. How many times have you bought an item of clothing for yourself in that time?” He doesn’t like the way Hermione is looking at him.

“Um, maybe once or twice?” Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember the last time he bought an item of clothing… they just sort of… appear…

“Exactly. Has he ever led you wrong?” Harry thinks about it and realises he hasn’t. “He’s only asking you to wear something for one evening. You think you’re the only one who’s wearing something embarrassing? Rose wanted to go dressed as a Morris dancer for crying out loud. She thought it would be funny.” Harry glances at Ron who shakes his head with amusement. Harry suspects it might have been Ron’s idea in the first place.

“And I think you’re a little bit beyond worrying about him treating you like a plaything; Merlin knows Draco doesn’t give a flying fuck about how famous you are.” Ron has a point. 

Just then, Harry notices a flash of red hair darting past the kitchen door.

“Rose! Daddy just swore at Uncle Harry! He said Uncle Draco doesn’t give a flying fuck!” Harry bursts out laughing when Hermione groans and drops her head in her hands.

“Hugo seems to have inherited the swearing gene too,” Ron admits, looking sheepish.

“You mean your swearing gene. I take no responsibility whatsoever.” Sitting down with Ron and Hermione never fails to make Harry feel better. 

He thinks maybe this whole thing has been blown totally out of proportion – it is just a pink suit, and he didn’t even put it on before deciding that it was horrible. But two wrongs don’t make a right, Draco was the one who effectively kicked him out of the house with all this silent treatment for heaven’s sake! Draco can be the one to come to him for a change.

Ron takes a deep breath and Harry is suddenly aware that he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear. “Harry, stop moping and help your husband have the best birthday party ever. We all know I’m the last person to defend the ferrety git, but don’t you think he deserves it?”

Harry heads home full of remorse for being an arsehole, but when he gets back the house is dark, and Draco isn’t there. He thinks about finding out where he is but considering how long it’s been since he heard Draco’s voice, he can’t bring himself to do it.

The last days of May quickly become the first of June and still Draco won’t speak to Harry. At this point Harry has missed so many opportunities to apologise that he almost feels like they’ll never move on from it. Draco wanders around the house with such a heavy pout on his face refusing to speak to Harry that Harry finds it impossible to apologise. It doesn’t help that there are party preparations scattered all over the place and Draco is clearly stressed. He doesn’t even trust Harry enough to help with anything.

Draco is up first thing in the mornings taking deliveries and speaking to florists and the chef he’s hired. He wasn’t going to go this far but he realised that with the Weasleys alone there will be a significant guestlist and part of him wants to make this the best party ever just to stick it to Harry. By the time Draco comes to bed after designing place settings and consulting with Pansy over centrepieces, Harry is already asleep in bed and snoring lightly.

Even though he’s still upset and angry, Draco can’t sleep without tucking himself against Harry’s back and looping his arm over his waist. They’ve slept together like that for two decades and that isn’t going to change.

Things become so silent between the two of them that Draco is worried Harry won’t even show up to the party anymore. It makes Draco feel nauseous to think of celebrating his birthday without his husband, but he will categorically not apologise for wanting a birthday with an on-point aesthetic. One good thing to come out of Draco’s silence however, is that Harry has plenty of time to come up with his own birthday surprise with the help of Luna and Neville. He only hopes it doesn’t blow up in his face.

Draco is pensive when the day of the part finally rolls around. It’s been over twenty-four hours since he last saw his husband, and each time he thinks maybe Harry won’t come at all his lower lip starts to tremble and he has to hold back tears. Harry was already gone when Draco woke up that morning – there have been no presents and no birthday breakfasts, even though that has always been their tradition. It’s especially difficult since Pansy has paid for him to have his make-up done professionally as part of his birthday present and he’ll be damned if he smudges his perfect eyeliner.

“You look gorgeous, darling,” Pansy gushes when he returns from his makeover. He has to admit, he feels like a princess each time he catches himself in the mirror. Which is often at Pansy’s since her whole house is covered in them. He went right over to hers when he realised he’d woken up alone on his birthday – at least he would be out of the way when the marquee is constructed since he knows he can be overbearing with such things.

“Thank you,” he takes the compliment graciously and helps Pansy change into her muggle-themed outfit, forcing himself not to think about his prat of a husband. He will have a brilliant birthday. She’s decided to dress like a 1920s flapper and with the sharp cut of her black bob, Draco thinks it’s a perfect combination.

It’s not until well over an hour later when Draco starts to get ready himself that the worry really sets in. There’s no sign of Harry even as Draco arrives back home and sets himself up in their bedroom. Despite everything, Draco never returned the suit he’d picked out for Harry, and he can see the box sitting like an evil omen in the corner of the room. Even if Harry does try to come in, Pansy is under strict instructions not to let anyone see him. It’s almost like his wedding day all over again, except he never doubted Harry for a second back then. His hands shake as he looks for his string of pearls. He has already had Pansy, Hermione, and Luna’s approval on his wardrobe, but it has been a long time since he’s worn an outfit like this one and he wonders if he’s doing the right thing.

“Draco it’s so beautiful,” Pansy runs her hand lightly over the fabric as he finishes styling his hair. It’s only half an hour before guests are due to arrive and Draco’s stomach is in knots.

He tries his best to push his anxiety to one side and focus on enjoying his day. He cannot let Harry ruin his party or it will all have been for nothing. He lets Pansy help him dress, them both working hard to avoid creasing the delicate fabric. The collar sits featherlight over Draco’s collarbones and he shimmers with each tiny move. It’s the first time in a long time he’s felt so right in his skin.

It takes forever for Draco to feel steady enough to make his entrance. So long that despite going up an hour before the party, most guests have arrived by the time he heads downstairs with Pansy and out into the garden. They make an odd pair as they make their way across the lawn, Draco floating like a butterfly and Pansy looking like she’s just walked right out of The Great Gatsby. 

The party is like nothing they’ve ever seen. Draco has somehow managed to keep it low key and make it ostentatious at the same time by throwing his party in his and Harry’s back garden but making it huge. When they had moved to the country, they’d bought a house with a large outdoor space so they could fly without being seen. One of the fields at the far end of their land is filled with long rows of lavender which shone bright purple. Draco has constructed a large marquee, not too dissimilar to the one Bill and Fleur had had for their wedding according to Harry. The numerous arched entrances down one side have been pulled open so that guests had a view over the lavender field.

The party is set to start late in the day with a dinner before music and silly muggle party games that Draco won’t participate in for the sake of ruining his expensive clothing. Already the sun is making the lavender glow with golden sunshine. Inside the marquee fairy lights are strung across wooden beams and the supporting pillars are twined with trailing roses.

Draco has meticulously planned the dinner for everyone; conscious of Luna’s veganism, Bill’s appreciation for very rare meat, and Pansy’s nasty gluten allergy. Not to mention Blaise being the pickiest eater under the sun despite not having a single allergy or intolerance. There are large tables covered in crisp white tablecloths and chairs draped with lilac silk tied in bows at the back. Each has a fresh flower centrepiece studded with carefully placed candles and rows of meticulously calligraphic name cards handwritten by Draco himself.

The bubbling chatter from within stops instantly when Draco steps into the marquee. He has chosen to wear a pale blue chiffon gown stitched around the neckline and bodice with glittering silver birds which sets the silver of his eyes alight. The dress is embroidered with blooms of bright pink flowers which were supposed to compliment the flowers of Harry’s suit. The dress has long delicate sleeves and a boat neckline and it flows down to the floor in waves. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he sees the startled looks on his friends’ and family’s faces. He can see Luna beaming with pride and Mrs Weasley tearing up and Greg looking completely bemused. There’s Percy and his wife Audrey, Millicent and… her cat, Ginny and Padma and Neville and Hannah and Bill and Fleur and a sea of other familiar faces. The kids, who aren’t really kids anymore, are already huddled in a corner chattering away not paying any attention.

Draco has never been the kind of person who likes to put labels on himself. His relationship with his gender is complex and fluid and although he’s happy to keep masculine pronouns, he doesn’t identify entirely as male. Feminine clothing had been a huge part of his self-expression in his twenties, but he slowly and almost unconsciously moved back into the traditional dress he wore when he was growing up as he got older. It was coming across Harry Styles one day when he was scrolling through the internet that made him realise how little he’d allowed himself over the past few years.

From there he had discovered a whole host of muggle fashion that threw everything Draco knew and understood about his gender expression out of the window. Now he wants his birthday party to be a time when he can celebrate himself in whichever way suits him most. And so, he wanted to wear the fabulously expensive ballgown he’d reserved that day he’d gone with Pansy to muggle London. It would be almost like a second coming out, since most of the children won’t remember this part of their uncle.

But his heart nearly stops completely when he sees Harry standing in the middle of the floor in the gap between the tables that will later be the dancefloor.

He was facing away from Draco until all conversation in the room died, at which point he turned. He’s staring at Draco with no expression and Draco things he might cry if he doesn’t do something soon. He’s wearing the sodding suit Draco chose for him and he looks more beautiful than any human being Draco has ever seen in his life. He wants to run right into his arms and never let go of him, but he’s frozen to the spot in fear and apprehension.

Draco blinks and suddenly Harry is standing before him, eyes glistening, breathing shallowly.

“I-” Harry’s voice is raw, and he swallows thickly. Draco’s gaze drops to the floor, but Harry’s index finger is under his chin and pulling his face back up again. “I haven’t seen you look so beautiful since our wedding day.” Suddenly he can breathe properly again. He meets Harry’s dazzling green eyes which shine like emeralds against the suit and the evening sunlight. Draco will never ever get tired of Harry; every time he looks at Draco like this, he makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world.

“You wore it,” he says weakly, trying to ignore the hundreds of guests who all have their eyes on them. The cut of the jacket shows off the breadth of Harry’s shoulders and the tone of his arms from years of auror training. But none of that really matters because all Draco cares about is that Harry is here. Now, things are right. Now, he can be happy and celebrate.

“I should never have said no.” The fire in Harry’s eyes makes Draco’s knees go weak and he clutches Harry’s forearm they’re standing so close. “This is your day and I am here to support my gorgeous husband who could show up in a bin bag and still be the belle of the ball.”

“I don’t- I would never-” he doesn’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t really care about muggle popstars. That he only developed the fixation because the stupid muggle reminded him so much of the Harry he already knows and loves. Who he has twenty years of memories and fifteen years of marriage with that Draco wouldn’t have any other way. But in the end, all he can say is, “I love you and only you and I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Oi, Malfoy, some of us are just here for the free food yeah?” He hears Weasley yell in the background, but he’s too busy kissing his husband like it’s the first time to take any notice.

“RONALD WEASLEY SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Hermione screeches.

“MUM!”

“Oh, like you haven’t heard worse.”

When Draco has forced the lingering tears from his eyes and Harry has assured him a dozen times that his make-up is still flawless, Draco goes about greeting as many of his guests as he can, and they all sit down to dinner. Draco regrets choosing roasted red pepper soup when his gown is such a pale shade of blue. At least the artichoke and lemon salad will be less hazardous. 

There’s a commotion during their main course and Draco’s eyes are drawn when Charlie arrives – late as always. He had invited him but hadn’t been entirely sure he would bother making the trip from Romania just for Draco. Although, it was also a good chance to see his family.

“Oi. I didn’t wear this nightmare so that you could have eyes for other men!” Harry hisses in his ear when he notices who has drawn Draco’s attention. Draco rolls his eyes and goes back to his food. He hasn’t had a crush on Charlie for at least five minutes.

“He’s no Harry Styles.” Harry pinches Draco’s side lightly and he squeals.

It’s fair to say that Draco’s party is a roaring success. Most of the guests really embraced the muggle theme and Draco later hears from Harry that Hermione had to bribe Rose into not coming as a Morris dancer complete with bells. Draco actually thinks it would have been hilarious.

Mr Weasley’s grasp of muggle fashion is rather astounding considering he spent as long as he did working in the Muggle Artefacts Office before he retired. His top half is a dinner jacket and tie, but his lower half is clad in knickerbockers and galoshes. Blaise is wearing a kilt ‘the traditional way’ he whispers to Draco after a gin too many. Greg seems to be dressed unironically as a pirate, but Draco’s absolute favourite is Ginny Weasley who has come dressed in ‘the worst fashion trends of the 2000s’. This includes low rise gold pleather trousers with a lace up crotch, a purple floor length duster over a crocheted crop top, arms covered in plastic bracelets, hair swimming in butterfly clips, and completely transparent shoes.

“Just to make you as uncomfortable as physically possible as a display of my undying love for your free childcare.” She explained to him when he passed her.

But even that isn’t enough to irritate him when for once everything is going smoothly. That is, until about half an hour after dessert during the second round of Twister when Harry turns to Draco and says, “I have a surprise for you.” Draco’s stomach drops.

“What.”

“Just trust me.” And up Harry wanders off towards the house. Draco looks around at the party guests but none of them seem to think this is strange. While Harry’s seat is empty, Teddy Lupin comes over to speak to Draco. It’s hard for Draco to believe he’s already twenty-two when he remembers the very first time he held him as a tiny baby. His hair is a shocking shade of luminous green.

“Billie Joe Armstrong,” Teddy says when he catches Draco staring at his head, “he’s in this muggle band you won’t have heard of. They’re called Green Day.”

Draco nods. “Makes sense.”

“So uh, I just wanted to say it’s a great party so far, although the food was kinda gross.” Draco laughs. 

“Don’t worry, there’ll be cake later.”

Teddy smiles. “It’s ok. It’s your party right? It should be fun for you not me. Anyway… I wanted to come over here and tell you you look really nice. You know, most of the others don’t remember when you used to wear dresses and make-up and stuff, but I do. That’s how I remember you most so I guess I’m just glad my cool Uncle Draco is back.” It’s not the most eloquent of speeches, but it’s one of Draco’s favourites. He pulls Teddy into a hug and he doesn’t even complain.

“Thanks Teddy.” He wants to tell him how proud his parents would be of the man he has become, but there are only so many times he can keep his emotions in check in one day, and he’s determined not to ruin his eyeliner.

Mercifully, Harry returns before things can get too heavy. He and Charlie are carrying a load of black boxes and wires while Neville and Luna clear away the party games and Draco has no idea what’s happening. It takes a while of fumbling and wires being crossed and plugged in and stands being set up, but then there’s a microphone in the middle of the dancefloor and Harry is standing right behind it staring at Draco.

“Speeeeech.” Greg shouts in a low rumble. Draco nearly slides down his chair in embarrassment but then everyone else joins in.

“SPEEEECH.” They chant until Harry is shushing them with his hands.

“Alright, alright.” His voice comes booming from the microphone and Draco’s heart rate picks up. Just what is Harry doing? “Some of you may have heard that it’s been a tough week in our house.” There’s a tittering around the room and Draco is gobsmacked that so many people know. Who told them? “But while Draco has been running around like a headless chicken, I’ve been doing my own planning. I have of course bought him a birthday present, which I’m sure he’ll have time to open later, but I also want to introduce him to a new muggle concept.”

Draco has no idea what’s going on.

“For those of you who don’t know, muggles like to do a thing at parties called karaoke.” The stitching on Harry’s suit glints as he gestures, and Draco wants to memorise each movement. He also wants Harry to turn around so he can get a good look at his arse in those trousers, but apparently that’ll have to wait. 

“I would have liked to have been a little more drunk than I am right now,” Harry laughs into the microphone and his nervousness makes Draco’s chest flutter. “But basically, there’s a muggle singer Draco has mentioned once or twice. I may have been a bit of an arse about it, so I thought I’d learn a song for him.”

Draco thinks he might explode. Harry learnt a Harry Styles song… for him? Surely not. Can Harry even sing? Draco joked about it, but he never thought- oh hell. His cheeks are flame red already and he’s never been more grateful for the pale foundation masking his cheeks.

“As you can tell, I’m not one for speeches,” Harry rubs the back of his neck and Draco wants to sweep him up in his arms and love him to death. “But yeah. So, Draco?” Their eyes meet across the room; brilliant green against shining silver. “Happy Birthday.” The smile Harry gives him lights up the whole room, even more than the glow coming in off the lavender field.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise  
Strawberry lipstick state of mind  
I get so lost inside your eyes  
Would you believe it?”

Draco cannot take his eyes off his husband. Sure, it’s obvious Harry’s not a trained singer, but he’s good. He’s better than Draco could ever have expected and suddenly is half furious that he’s been missing out on this for all these years. Is there anything Harry can’t do? Draco glances at Hermione, just for a second, and she looks as surprised as he is.

The entire time Harry sings Draco is utterly mesmerised. It’s so cringey it’s almost comical and yet Draco loves every second of it. He wonders how he got lucky enough to marry a man like Harry. Sure, they fight, and when they fight, they really fight, but this is what it’s for. 

“Just let me adore you  
Like it's the only thing I'll ever do”

The moment the last word leaves Harry’s lips, Draco is flinging himself at him in a cloud of billowing blue chiffon. Harry catches him as Harry always does and always will. Draco doesn’t care anymore that there are tears running freely down his face. This week has been torture trying to plan a party whilst worrying about his husband and now that they’re here the whole thing seems the most ridiculous falling out ever. Harry looks great in his suit and Draco would take half of Harry over any other man any day.

“Your voice is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He says, his lips brushing Harry’s ear.

“Happy Birthday my darling.” Harry says quietly.

Karaoke is a hit. The youngsters sing songs Draco has never heard and Greg does a surprisingly stunning rendition of a Frank Sinatra song while Harry twirls Draco around the dancefloor like a queen. As the light fades the fairy lights come into their own and the silver threads on Draco’s dress sparkle as he twirls. Harry’s smile is the best present Draco could wish for, even though he has opened dozens of beautiful and hilarious gifts already, including a ‘stay sexy, don’t get murdered’ keychain from Blaise (worrying), a giant scratch-off poster of a hundred books he should read (and hasn’t), and Monopoly for cheaters (just rude).

Harry did get considerably more drunk that night – presumably to ward off the lingering embarrassment of having sung in front of nearly everyone he knows. Draco’s not so liberal with the booze, although his head buzzes pleasantly and he’s enjoying the way his dress makes him feel like he’s floating around the room. At some point Hugo declares decidedly that Draco is the new and improved Elsa from Frozen, and that leads to the two of them doing a horrible rendition of do you want to build a snowman. Draco doesn’t even care how awful it sounds or how ridiculous it looks.

That night, half of them fall sleep in or half out of the marquee under the stars in the fresh air. Finally, Harry and Draco can sleep curled into each other knowing the last things they said to each other were loving and happy things. By the time they wake up the next morning they’ll also be curled into half of their friends who huddled in as the temperature dropped during the night, but Draco won’t mind. He’s happy and healthy and who cares if he just turned forty? Forty is the new thirty anyway. 

And that’s the story of how Harry Potter ended up singing a Harry Styles song to Draco Malfoy on his fortieth birthday in their back garden.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can imagine, I took some inspiration for this fic from some Harry Styles looks such as [his show in Dallas in 2018](https://styleslookbook.com/post/174628007887/for-his-show-in-dallas-texas-harry-wore-a-custom) and [his iHeartRadio Music Festival look](https://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/gallery/harry-styles-style-file-fashion-and-outfits)
> 
> I used a bit of artistic license with brands names and the like, but I'm sure you get what I'm going for. 
> 
> Oh, and then there's [this Gucci bag](https://www.gucci.com/uk/en_gb/pr/women/handbags/crossbody-bags-for-women/online-exclusive-ophidia-gg-flora-mini-round-shoulder-bag-p-55061892YAE8709) I found during my research and had to include. I absolutely do not want it myself. Not at all...
> 
> Happy Birthday Draco!!


End file.
